


The Fault Lies With Me

by CreativeSweets



Category: Naruto
Genre: Absolute Asshole Uchiha Izuna, Alcoholic Enema, Arranged Marriage, Body Horror, Dark Uchiha Izuna, Dark Uchiha Madara, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, Tobirama Whump, Victim Blaming, misuse of mokuton, non-con arranged marriage, non-con polyandry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeSweets/pseuds/CreativeSweets
Summary: Tobirama experiences exactly what it means to be Uchiha Madara and Uchiha Izuna's wife.What it means to be married for peace.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 58
Kudos: 231





	The Fault Lies With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drelfina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When All is Said and Done](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22359856) by [drelfina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/pseuds/drelfina). 



> Read drelfina's fic first. This will make a lot more sense if you do.  
> (also, because it's really, really good)

Tobirama did his best to stay as far away from his . . . from _Izuna_ as possible. Not that it did much good, because somehow he’s always found, he’s always dragged into a dark corner, or an empty room, whenever Izuna wanted him.

Most times, the mokuton _jewelry_ adorning him would activate right away, would leave him physically submissive and unable to fend off the assault. Tobirama wished he could say those were the worst times, when he was unable to _move_ and could only bear what advances Izuna deemed enough for their encounter.

But no, those weren’t the worst times.

“Don’t!” Tobirama pushed at Izuna’s shoulders ineffectively. He couldn’t help the panic following those hands crawling up his sides. 

“Such a bad wife,” Izuna said with an amused smirk, like his objection to being used as some kind of sex toy was _funny_ , “Denying me again? Tsk tsk.”

Tobirama’s back hit the wall before Izuna’s teeth were nipping at his jaw, down his neck—!

“Izuna, s-stop!” Panicked, Tobirama attempted to push Izuna’s head away from his neck, away from making marks that he would have to see in the mirror later.

And then Tobirama went still, shivering. 

No, Tobirama thought as Izuna cooed at him, lifted his pliant body up to be taken back to his room, this was the worst.

When the mokuton would activate after he had a sliver of hope, a sliver of time where he actually could resist.

It was the worst sort of cruelty Tobirama could think of.

“Look how nice you are now, Tobira-chan,” Izuna cooed at him, full of false sincerity. 

Because Izuna knew that he would be fighting back still, if he _could_.

But instead, he had to listen to Izuna praise him for acting like he should, forced by the mokuton to hold onto Izuna.

* * *

At first, Tobirama had attempted to regain some dignity during his assaults. Biting whenever he had the chance, snarling and saying all manner of mean things until his face was shoved into the bedding and all he could do was focus on breathing through the resulting ‘punishment.’ 

Izuna made it easier to feel vindicated with his verbal backlash.

Madara . . .

Madara was soft. Soft _er_ , at least. 

He was obviously much slower in his pleasure, much more confident and perhaps the underlying, unwavering POWER Tobirama felt made him defer faster, made him shiver but not _fight_ the mokuton as he did when Izuna would corner him.

It still made a coil of mortification curl in his stomach whenever Madara would reference their wedding night, and would ask for another show. But the mokuton made the motions just as fluid and graceful as that night, except now hands joined in, careful to not get in his way as they caressed the arch of his back and the blush of his cheeks.

Tobirama had tried everything to get the mokuton off of him, after the first time it stopped him cold in his tracks when Izuna wanted to have him again after the, the _wedding_.

After being backhanded and turned on his stomach, entered with so very, very little preparation, Tobirama found himself mentally cursing Izuna, Madara, every other Uchiha, _Hashirama_ —

And had felt so guilty afterwards that he simply laid there in Izuna’s bed, quiet as Izuna moved him onto his side and curled up behind him, laying sweet, mocking kisses on his shoulder.

* * *

By the end of Tobirama’s first month, he hoarded bottles of oil, and grit his teeth through the process of stretching and oiling himself every morning when either one of his husbands were home. After the first couple mornings, Tobirama cursed his older brother once more when the mokuton spread across his skin and prepared him in a far more intimate fashion than Tobirama would have cared for. It wasn’t that he was _ungrateful_ to Hashirama, he simply wished that he could have a moment to himself.

The feeling of slick squished between his legs underneath the long kimono he wore everyday was more easily handled than being _unprepared_.

Which, unfortunately, had happened to him too many times when one of his _loving, caring husbands_ was too excited, or purposefully was teaching him a lesson.

That was a lesson Tobirama took to heart. Being made to ride Izuna’s cock, facing Izuna with his arms around that neck he wanted to _squeeze_ , without much stretching and definitely not enough oil was enough.

Once was enough.

It wasn’t enough for Izuna, however.

* * *

Tobirama’s first real slip of his tongue happened when Izuna had his birthday, and he had said his was a mere nine days after.

It was the last time Tobirama mentioned his birthday.

Izuna had spent his own birthday mercilessly rutting into him in all manner of positions until Tobirama was solely reliant on the mokuton to keep himself in some of the more challenging ones. That was the first time that the mokuton had curled itself over Tobirama’s cock, tight at the base and keeping him hard throughout the entirety of it all. 

Izuna found it hilarious to jerk him off and watch his dick leak.

Of course, the very worst part was that, after everything, Tobirama had begged, had _pleaded_ for something, _anything_ that would make him cum.

“Surely a naughty wife like you should only have the most bitchiest of orgasms.” Izuna said while fucking into him and nailing his prostate every other thrust.

Tobirama blacked out that night from the pleasure.

Tobirama’s birthday started out much, much differently than his usual routine of preparing himself (with or without mokuton, it still varied per day). Because apparently Madara’s gift was to not ask for him the entire day. _Izuna_ , however, simply smiled and said he had an EXTRA special gift for him when Tobirama was ready for it.

Which is how Tobirama found himself on his front, knees up and holding himself open. The mokuton clearly didn’t get the memo that today was _his_ birthday, not Izuna’s! And that he shouldn’t be, shouldn’t be waiting for Izuna to feel like fucking him.

“Oh, are you ready?” Izuna said from his seat behind Tobirama.

He couldn’t even see the smug bastard.

“I’ve been ready for the past half hour,” Tobirama forced through his gritted teeth.

“Hummm, I don’t know, maybe you should _check_.”

Tobirama glared at a particularly weird knot in the wall and pretended it was Izuna’s head even as his fingers moved to finger himself slick and open AGAIN for Izuna.

Then Izuna pushed something inside of him, next to his fingers that automatically held it, and Tobirama had a moment of panic where he thought perhaps Izuna would poison him, shove something that most _assuredly_ should NOT belong up his ass.

And when something _liquid_ entered him, Tobirama could only be thankful that the mokuton kept him pinned down, because he would have seriously hurt himself from jerking away.

The next few minutes were spent in a sort of suspended panic. He knew, logically, that if Izuna wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have waited until NOW to do it, but he kept cataloguing all of his symptoms until he came to a terrifying conclusion: _he was drunk_.

The rest of the details of that night were fuzzy, and Tobirama was fairly sure he was under a genjutsu for at least _part_ of it, since there was no way that he would, that Izuna would, that _anything_ like that had happened.

Of course, Izuna liked to whisper in Tobirama’s ear bits and pieces of that night, bragging about what Tobirama had done, what HE had done, how he begged, how he _looked_ —

Izuna even went so far as to ask Tobirama if he wanted to be shown what had happened, tapping the side of his temple.

Tobirama was smart enough not to fall into _that_ trap.

Knowing Izuna, he suggested the use of his sharingan, but in practice, well, Tobirama would rather not experience it all over. No matter what was actually real or not.

* * *

By the end of Tobirama’s second month, he was well aware he was keeping his head lowered demurely without any mokuton help, well aware that he went through several motions on muscle memory he never wanted.

The first time had been with Madara, who had simply commented on how soft Tobirama’s skin was without the jewelry spread across it.

Tobirama had tensed up immediately, horrified at the idea that he just, he just—

Madara huffed right in his ear and pulled him closer into that broad chest and Tobirama, Tobirama stayed awake the entire night, the mokuton now active and preventing him from shifting.

Since then, Tobirama took great personal pleasure in knowing that never, not once, had _Izuna_ sparked that sort of muscle memory from him. Although it probably had more to do with how unpredictable Izuna was over anything else.

Madara was nothing if not painfully predictable in his likes, his dislikes, and his expectations of Tobirama.

However there was one notable exception, where Tobirama was doing some of the (meager) amount of paperwork he was allowed to do, and Madara had come in, clearly having just came back from a mission with such clear intent that the mokuton had him bending over and spreading his legs even before Tobirama could welcome Madara back.

Tobirama had to rewrite several pages, due to the ink that spilled.

* * *

By the end of Tobirama’s third month, he understood that Izuna _wanted_ him to struggle, just a bit. Just how Madara enjoyed his smooth actions and seamless motions, Izuna craved his erratic ones. Where Madara wanted his acquiescence, Izuna wanted his humiliation.

It, perhaps, wasn’t the sort of revelation that should have taken him this long to figure out, but he spent at least half that time actively pushing against the position he was forced into and cursing the ones responsible.

Which wound up being primarily Hashirama.

Which, ultimately, led to it being _Tobirama’s_ own fault. 

Because surely his older brother knew what was best for him.

Surely Hashirama knew what kind of people—what kind of _husbands_ —both Madara and Izuna were.

And that meant . . .

That meant that Hashirama knew how much Tobirama would fight against it, would deny and thrash and make a fool out of himself.

It would explain the mokuton; a reminder that Hashirama was always watching, always finding Tobirama _lacking_ because he had to step in and MAKE Tobirama see his own errors.

But Tobirama knew better, now.

The hand in his hair yanked and Tobirama fell into the motion, looked up from his place on his knees with his throat bared, his lips shiny with saliva.

A finger traced underneath one of his eyes and caught some of his tears. 

“So sweet for your husband,” Izuna cooed at him with a smile.

And Tobirama blushed.


End file.
